Son Not Like Father
by EnyoAzul
Summary: Matsuda concludes that Light is nothing like his father. LightXMatsu. One-sided SoiXMatsu


Disclaimer: No claims of ownership of Death Note or anything else here.

Note: Not really any plot 'cause even though i love SoiMatsu so much everytime I write a plot fic revolving around them it turns out to be complete and utter crap. I guess I, like Matsu, am going to have to settle for a substitute. R&R please, (no not railroad but trains _are_ cool)

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An icy winter breeze drifting in from the ajar hotel window ruffled the thin cotton shirt held aloft in Yagami Light's hand. The young adult seemed to stand tall and powerful even when he was slightly slouched and sleepy. He ran a hand threw his arrogant hair and tilted his head back a bit paying Matsuda a pitying glace to as if to say 'I meant it when I said it was a one time thing, don't get attached.

The older man felt himself shrink at the look. His eyes cast downward and he attempted to swallow the lump in his dry throat. It wasn't that his self esteem was so low that he deemed himself unworthy of the other man. After all, even a ragged prostitute might find herself in the company of men of the likes of Light for a one night stand. However, he did feel even more incompetent than usual in the other's intelligent presence which was something the young man's father, Soichiro, never made him feel. If anything the former police chief had always made Matsuda feel welcome and valued; the only person at the headquarters who he felt sure would not scoff at his ideas or theories. If only, if only what? If he had been smarter? Handsomer? More charming, stronger, female? It was impossible to determine what it was that kept him from his true love.

A chink of glass caused him to turn up abruptly. Light, his unwrinkled shirt on but still unbuttoned, was pouring himself a bit of brandy. Matsuda watched transfixed as the caramel colored liquid swished about in its glass. It had been over the same drink that he had managed to stutter out his confession to his love. Soichiro had ignored him at first opting to pour himself another glass of alcohol instead of addressing the issue but stupidly Matsuda had gone on insisting he be heard out and answered. What he received was a pat on the back and a courteous, 'I'm sorry.' Matsuda blushed at the memory. He wasn't embarrassed about what had happened per se but more overwhelmed by the feelings his gentle but stern friend seemed to produce within him. It was cliché but Soichiro was his everything. His life. And he _would_ do anything follow him anywhere never asking for a thing except companionship in return.

Matsuda came back to the present time just in time to see Light, shirt buttoned and overcoat on, heading for the door. The sight surprised him. Surely the younger man was going to say goodbye; Soichiro, after all, had not only said goodbye to him after their awkward conversation about propriety and marriage but had driven him home as well to 'make sure he arrived safely'.

"Um, so Light," Matsuda said, fumbling with the bed sheets in what probably looked at a desperate pace.

"Yeah," Light sighed, only turning slightly to his coworker.

"Um, well, I was just thinking, about the Kira case, and um, well we haven't, we're kind of at a dead end right now, right? And …and so I thought that since we haven't gone back to the original list of suspects in a while…maybe we can start investigating them again…" He stumbled out of the bed and landed in a heap tangled within the blankets.

"Original suspects?" Light, turning to look at the older man with a smirk, scoffed, "Like my mother and sister? And myself."

"No!" Matsuda shouted as he managing to lift his head out of the mess, "I mean, that's not what I meant…"

"Stupid Matsuda," Light sighed again, "we don't need to go back. We need to go forward. Move on… with the case…and other things."

"Yeah, you're right, Light. Sorry," he mumbled. The younger man gave him a slight nod and then once again headed toward the door; this time Matsuda did not stop him. It was strange how the chief merely being nearby produced a warmth that filled Matsuda's core better than any other thing in the world and yet his son, with his indifference and royal attitude, flooded the room with something much colder than even the winter's night air.

He shivered aching for the only one who could comfort him for the person who was absolutely nothing like the one who had just left.


End file.
